


A Flash of Golden Fire

by ScarlettFAngell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Chris Argent, BAMF Stiles, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Full Shift Werewolves, Good Peter Hale, Knotting, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magic, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Hale Has A Pack, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 06, Scent Marking, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved Peter Hale, Touch-Starved Stiles Stilinski, Voyeurism, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Mates, but not that good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettFAngell/pseuds/ScarlettFAngell
Summary: Beacon Hills is the only safe place left for supernaturals and, as always, it’s a giant beacon to them all—good or bad--so when Stiles returns from Quantico and Peter realises he's a more powerful Spark than even Deaton thought, he's a little stunned. Then something dangerous moves into Beacon Hills and it wants the Spark--it wants Stiles.And Peter? Well, Peter Hale is Not Impressed.That's not to mention how Chris Argent will react when he finds out.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Ethan/Jackson Whittemore, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 30
Kudos: 204
Collections: Teen Wolf





	A Flash of Golden Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Yeah, yet another fic. #sorrynotsorry. Teen Wolf this time. I'm a total Steter fan, with a side of Chris. So enjoy! This is basically post-everything TW and stuff, so like. Enjoy and whatnot. Comments and kudos welcome, and greatly appreciated!

**Chapter One**

**_Peter was relaxing comfortably_ ** on his couch watching a documentary on killer whales and happily working his way through his third non-wolfsbane-laced bottle of scotch when he heard a car pull up outside his apartment building. He muted the TV and titled his head, listening carefully as the car sat idle for a few minutes and then someone got out, offering the driver a soft thanks in a very familiar voice. Peter raised his eyebrows and set down the bottle. It had been a rough few weeks, okay? He was allowed to indulge.

But why was Stiles back? Why was here, at Peter's apartment? How did he even know where Peter lived?

Curiousity piqued, Peter stood and crossed to the door, listening as Stile entered the building and took the lift up to the top floor. He chuckled and moved back to the couch, turning off the TV and tossing the remote onto the coffee table witth a clatter. Now it was just a matter of time.  _Five, four, three, two..._

Someone knocked on the door and Peter smiled smugly, moving to answer it.  _One_ , he thought, and pulled the door open, raising an eyebrow at the haggard-looking young man standing there with a duffel bag.

"Stiles," he purred, leaning against the door frame. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Stiles blinks at him, swinging the duffel slightly. "My wards went off," he said, as if that answered everything.

Peter stared at him. "I'm sorry, your what?"

The kid just stared right back. He eyebrow rose even higher as he watched Stiles blushed, right down to his collarbones and more. That was...interesting. After a moment of studying Stiles and the pretty blush, Peter stepped aside to let him in, smirking slightly. Stiles sent him a dirty look as he brushed by and promptly dumped his bag just inside the doorway. He muttered something about nosy creeperwolves as he went straight to the couch and flopped down on it, face-first.

"Ah, I see. I was wondering what that had been."

Stiles perked up and rolled over to squint at him, nearly falling off the couch in the process. "You felt my wards when they triggered?" he asked as he sat up and tilted his head in confusion. "Since when? How?"

Peter shrugged. He gently closed the door, flipping the locks and leaning back against it casually, his smirk growing. "I felt them when they went up," he said as if that explained anything. "And I felt them when they, ah, went off? About three weeks ago, maybe a month. I wasn't quite sure what was going on when it happened." He pinned Stiles with a narrow-eyed, suspicious look. "Anything you want to tell me, Little Mischief?"

"Huh," Stiles muttered, tilting his head. He crossed his legs and leaned against the back of the couch, propping his chin up on the back of it. "Interesting... I wasn't aware that anyone had noticed that."

He snorted. "When did you put up the wards?"

"Um....after the whole nogitsune thing....and then that whole....business with the train and stuff." He shrugged, eyes darting away from Peter to linger on the wall. "I did it before I left for Quantico."

"Huh."

"You don't sound too surprised," Stiles muttered, gaze narrowing. "Anyway, s'why I texted you."

"You texted me?" Peter asked, frowning. Since when had Stiles texted him? Did he reply? Since when did Stiles have his number? He made a soft, curious noise, trying to ignore the wolf pacing in his head. It was agitated, acting like it'd caught the scent of something very interesting... It was distracting him.

Stiles gave him a confused look. “Yeah, I did. Like, a few weeks ago or something? I tried calling Scott, but he didn’t answer.”

Sighing, he went to collect his phone from the other room and checked his messages. He only had a few contacts that he texted regularly and that was Derek and Stiles. Sometimes Chris, if the hunter isn’t busy. He grimaced at the string of booty calls—texts—between him and Argent then scrolled past them. And yeah, Stiles had texted him. He’d dodged the question and asked Stiles if he was okay instead. It took Stile an hour to reply to that with a curt ‘fine’.

Peter strolled back out into the open plan lounge-kitchen-dining room, frowning at his phone. “Well, I clearly got your text but I don’t recall replying to it," he said and locked the phone, tucking it away. "Clearly I did reply, though."

"Yeah, you deflected," the kid said, scratching at his cheek. "Pretty weakly, too. S'okay, wasn't expecting much of a reaction, to be honest." Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. "Figures. Magic.”

"Magic?" His eyebrows rose, and the wolf snarled deep in his chest. He had to fight to keep it in. Why was his wolf side so agitated? Was it because of Stiles? Or the magic? Peter subtly drew in a deep breath through his noise and frowned. Stiles's eyes narrowed. Okay, maybe it wasn't that subtle. "Really, brat? Magic?"

"Yeah." Stiles straightened up and smiled brightly. "Oh, I left you a present, by the way. I hope you found it?" He tilted his head. "I sent you an encoded email?"

Peter sent him a confused look. "An email? When did you get my email?"

Stiles gave him a weird look. "You gave it to me? Wow, they really whammied you all hard with that spell, dude." He shifts up onto his knees, planting his elbows on the back of the couch and smirking at him. "Surprised you even remembered who I was, zombiewolf."

"How could I forget you?" he purred, stalking towards the brat and planting his hands on the couch on either side of his elbows. Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him as Peter leaned in close, lowering his voice and obviousy scenting him, nostrils flaring. "Mmh, the boy who smells like cardamom and cloves, and growing things?"

He stared up at Peter, blinking slowly. " _That's_ what I smell like?"

"Mmhmm, it's actually rather lovely, Little Mischief."

"I hate that you know that name."

Peter chuckled and then frowned as he caught a hint of blood and pain beneath the cardamom-cloves-greenness that was all Stiles. He hesitated, eyes flaring beta blue, darting down to take in the way Stiles was positioned--leaning more towards his right than his left, clearly putting more weight on his right elbow.

"Stiles," he said slowly, one hand going to the boy’s chin and tipping his head up. "Why do you smell like blood and pain?" The boy's gaze darted away and he wet his lips, clearing about to lie to him. Peter's grip tightened minutely. "And don't lie to me. I'll know."

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. "I was tracking a rogue wolf, okay?" he blurted, the words pouring out of him and blurring together a little. "And okay, maybe that was a bad idea--the dude was strong, zombiewolf--but I had to. I can't stand there being no one guarding the territory and before you start, Liam does not count! So, I, um, maybe snagged an alpha for you? And I maybe got clawed and fell out of a tree? Or was it down a hill? I forget which one it was first because, boy, that guy was fast, and, okay, maybe I should have called for back up, but I got him and he's--"

"Stiles."

"Yes?"

"Shut up," Peter said, sighing and pulling back. "Slow down. You were tracknig a rogue alpha? Where? And what's that got to--wait... You caugh him? For me?" He frowned. "Why?"

"Because Scott isn't here and Liam, frankly, fucking sucks as alpha. He has no idea what he's doing."

Peter sucked in a sharp breath. What happened between his m— _boy_ and the True Alpha? What had McCall done? What had he said? He felt the growl bubbling up before he could help himself and dragged himself away from Stiles as the beta shift came over him, that in between state that he hated. Stiles stared at him with wide, shocked eyes as he fought to control himself. It had to be getting close to the full moon for his control to slip like that. Briefly, he considered calling Chris and then swiftly discarded that thought. Stiles first. Then he could call Chris.

“What happened?” he ground out, finally fighting back the transformation and breathing a little steadier.

Stiles gasped at him, lips parted and glistening slightly in the light from the reading lamp beside the couch. Gods, he could just...ravish him, looking like that... So delectable... Peter quickly pushed  _those_ thoughts down and tried to focus on the more important issue at hand. It was very hard, though. His wolf just wanted to bask in the presence of it’s—

_No_. Nope. Not going there. No way.

“Did you not just hear me?” Stiles asked, sounding exasperated and Peter’s attention snapped back to him. He squinted at the boy and began to pace.

“Tell me again,” he said, moving into the kitchen to dig under the sink for his first aid kit. “Start from the beginning and don’t you dare leave anything out, Stiles.”

And Stiles did. Explaining that after the nogitsune, he’d felt bereft. His Spark—yes, he was a Spark, pay attention, Peter—had ignited a bit before that. Something about Jackson and his Kanima funky bullshit. Peter waved him on and Stiles, surprisingly, obliged. So Stiles had magic. Deaton seemed quite distressed and upset. All the other crazy shit went down and in between the crazy and the normal stuff, Stiles started looking for a teacher. He found several, all eager to teach a Spark how to use his magic. Including a fucking  _vampire_. Peter hadn’t even been sure they existed until then. Sure, there was an entry in the Argent Bestiary about them, but it didn’t exactly read like fact.

Regardless, while they were all off doing their thing, Stiles was secretly doing his own thing. And then Monroe declared war on all supernaturals. Stiles hadn’t been able to stand it, so he’d set up wards before he left for Quantico and then slowly strengthened them.  _From across the damn country_ .

And now he was back because something had tripped his wards. Peter was pretty damn sure that it wasn’t the damned alpha. He was also pretty damned impressed. Not only had Stiles bonded with the Nemeton, but he’d been keeping the territory safe from nearly _three-thousand miles away_. Fuck, but he was a powerful Spark and it had both Peter _and_ his wolf practically drooling. Chris would be quite upset that Peter got to him first.

“Fuck,” Peter said and dropped onto the couch beside Stiles, leaning forwards to bury his face in his hands, forearms resting against his knees. “Fucking hell, Stiles. Do you have any idea what set your wards off?”

Stiles sighed. “Unfortunately, no,” he muttered, grimacing as he shifted in his seat. The scent of blood and pain had steadily grown stronger, and now it was nearly overwhelming. “All I know is that it’s  _old_ , Peter.” He shifted, lifting his head slightly at Stiles using his actual name and not a nickname. “And I’m pretty sure I can’t deal with it on my own, especially since most of the pack aren’t actually here...”

He frowned and sat up, glancing towards Stiles. “They’re not?”

“Nope,” the brat said, popping the ‘p’ and subtly leaning towards him. “Scott and a couple of the others are in LA or San Fran. The, uh, group text wasn’t very clear, but I saw them in LA last, which was very last minute, thank you very much.” Stiles made a soft noise of distress, not quite a whimper. “That was, what...six-ish months ago? Something like that?”

“Stiles...” Peter began slowly, “am I the only one who’s been contacting you in the last _six months?_ ”

“Pfft, no,” he said, snorting. “Well, I mean... Chris has and dad, but, like... The others? Except Lydia who literally called me this morning?” Stiles made a face at him and Peter scowled back. “Well, er, yeah, pretty much?”

That was three people.  _Three people_ besides him. Peter took a deep breath and stood up, offering Stiles a hand up. “Okay,” he said, “here’s the plan. I’m gonna clean you up, tend to those scratches—you won’t turn, will you?—and then I’m going to go claim my present. Then we’ll call Chris and the Sheriff.”

“I’m a Spark, Peter. Nothing is going to be able to change that.”

“Good,” he grunted, dragging Stiles over to his kitchen table and sitting him down next to where he’d left the first aid kit. “Injury first. Then phone calls, understand?” Stiles nodded and Peter relaxed slightly. “And while I’m patching you up, little brat, you can tell me why you’re not at Quantico.”

Stiles grimaced and looked away even as Peter helped pull his shirt up over his head, tossing it aside. “I, uh... I flunked out, Peter...” He just raises an eyebrow and Stiles cracked. “Okay, okay, I quit, alright? I quit.”

He bent to study the sluggishly bleeding gouges in Stiles’s side—he’d need stitches—and growled lowly. That alpha was definitely dead when he got his claws on him.

“Okay. You quit. Why?”

“They were hunting supernaturals, Peter.”

Well,  _fuck_ .


End file.
